


Winter

by spatialsoloist



Series: Seasons of Love [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, And suddenly I've forgotten how to plot, M/M, Midorima is sad, Multi, Romance, Think of snowy days and nostalgic people wandering the streets, but he'll be happy soon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:32:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spatialsoloist/pseuds/spatialsoloist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He sees him for a total of seventeen minutes each day as they order something from the same café, wait for the light at the intersection, and descend down the stairs to the train station below. Then, they part ways on the platform, Midorima heading in one direction and the mysterious dark-haired beauty going in the next. His life is constant twist of loneliness and passiveness that Midorima is getting sick of…</p>
<p>…so he decides to change things around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Think nostalgia. I listened to Daughter’s “Winter” while writing this. It sets a great mood.

There was never really a beginning.

 

Midorima is not sure when their schedules started overlapping, or when he starts noticing, but each day as he exits the office and heads downstairs to the calm, quiet café at the lobby of his building, the dark-haired beauty is there, standing in line and gazing at the menu quietly. He wears a different coloured suit each day— not suits of expensive quality like the ones Akashi dons on a daily basis or the fashionable ones Kise has imported from Europe— but simple ones. White shirt, grey blazer, tanned blazer, red tie, checkered tie. There is jazz music playing softly through the speakers mounted on the wall, the small space smells of coffee and fruits, and the beautiful man glances behind him as Midorima enters the café and offers him a small smile.

 

They wait in line together without exchanging a word.

 

Kuroko knows Midorima’s order by heart now (black tea, soymilk, half a spoon of sugar and a spring of mint floating on the top), but the other man likes to experiment as long as Kuroko adds his favourite white chocolate shavings on top of the drink. He orders a sweet mango frappuccino on hot days, coffee with cream during the winter, sometimes hot coca, and sometimes a giant fruit smoothie. Midorima almost scrunches his nose as he thinks about the all the sugar. Call him boring, but he doesn’t like a change in his routine, even if it is plain.

 

Kuroko caps the lid on his hot drink and hands it over to Midorima with a polite nod. Kagami is busy hoisting a bag of vanilla mix into one of the ridiculously complicated machines in the back and doesn’t bother to give Midorima one of his cocky smirks. He accepts the drink, puts a tip in the fishbowl on the counter, and follows the dark-haired man out.

 

They walk side by side on the sidewalk. It is December now, and there is yet to be snow, but the temperature is low and the wind is bitter. Midorima’s fingers would be frozen if he hadn’t dug his pair of leather gloves out of the closet earlier this week. Next to him, the dark-haired man snuggles deeply into his burgundy scarf and exhales little puffs of white smoke as they stroll past a barbershop, a tiny bookstore, an Italian restaurant and a candy shop.

 

They stop at the curb, where the withering weeds grow out from the cracks in the concrete, and wait for the light to change.

 

Cars whiz by them. Other pedestrians crowd around, shivering and shuffling impatiently. Midorima is pushed to the side, so that his shoulder brushes the dark-haired man’s. Midorima is taller; standing at 195 centimeters, the other man only comes up to his shoulder. He has long, straight black hair that Midorima suspects is pushed out of his face only by the use of several different kinds of hair products. A few rebellions strands always escape and hang around his temples, though, and Midorima finds it strangely attractive.

 

Silver eyes meet his as the man glances over, but then the light turns green and the throng of people is moving, pushing the two of them forwards. Midorima faces the front. His hold on his cup of tea tightens slightly.

 

The stairs down to the subway is crowded with commuters rushing up and down at the same time. There is no time to sneak little looks, and this is the least favourite part of Midorima’s day. The constant churn of activity forces him to power-walk through the turnstile, crowd on the escalators, and then push his way through the crowd on the platform. He is never late for the train. It arrives exactly one minute after Midorima makes it onto the platform.

 

The tunnel is dark and hollow. The stale smell of the underground invades his nostrils, along with the mixed scent of cigarettes, ladies’ perfume and oily take-out food. Teenagers slouch against the pillars and tap away on their phones. Self-absorbed women talk loudly into their cells. Other tired, older businessmen stare balefully at the peeling advertisements pasted on the tiled wall across the tracks. When the train arrives, it comes in a blaze of light cutting through the darkness of the tunnel, a gust of cold air, and high-pitched squealing. People start shoving forwards, people are scrambling to get off, and Midorima takes this moment to glance behind him one last time.

 

The dark-haired man is standing on the other side of the platform, getting ready to board the train that heads in a completely different direction than the one Midorima is getting on. The thought of that makes the green-haired man feel strangely lonely.

 

He gets on.

 

The doors shut and people stagger a little as the train starts up again and shoots through the twisting and winding underground, taking some passengers home and some passengers to the beyond.

 

Midorima Shintarou is going to neither of those places.

 

He checks his watch.

 

Today, like every other day, he has spent a total of seventeen minutes with the mysterious dark-haired man.

 

+

 

Aomine Daiki is one of those people he never expected to get along with. They don’t, not really, but Midorima finds himself strangely tolerant of the brash and noisy man’s company. They meet up every Friday evening at the _Zone_ , a bar about a block away from Midorima’s apartment. It was just one of those things that also fell into place without either of them meaning to.

 

“Whoever invented weekday meetings at 8 am should be crushed,” Aomine complains, downing his whiskey down with a whole lot of bravado. He’s had a little more than he should, but Midorima is nursing his own glass of sake and can’t be bothered to hush the blue-haired man. There is a low and pleasant hum of chatter in the room.

 

“Ah, man, I’m just happy the weekend’s arrived. Maybe I’ll get smashed tomorrow night too.”

 

“Some of us do not have the luxury of continuously drinking, Aomine,” Midorima grumbles, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Aomine smirks at him.

 

“Aw, got another project to deal with? Must be tough being a senior partner. Good pay and all. Do you have a cushy corner office too? Cute chick for your secretary?”

 

“I can assure you that my position is not as glorious as it seems,” Midorima scowls. The thoughts of an attractive, curvy woman in a pencil skirt and a tight blouse inevitably fade away to the mental images of the dark-haired man.

 

Aomine hiccups and jabs a finger into Midorima’s chest. “What,” he slurrs, “Can be so bad about being a senior partner?”

 

Being a senior partner at Teiko Enterprises means catering to Akashi Seijuro’s every requirement. It’s not that Akashi is unreasonable; he’s just highly demanding. It means dealing with Kise, who runs late to the office in the mornings and likes to sneak in an extra half hour on his breaks and is loud and energetic even at the most unholy hours of the day. It means going through piles and piles of paperwork, an inbox full of redundant messages at 9 am, organizing and assigning roles for each project and then finding and re-assigning roles to people who are incompetent in their work. It means frustration. It means drinking out every Friday evening. It means that even if Midorima thinks that the dark-haired man who works in the same building with him every day is the most beautiful person he’s even seen in his life, he cannot bring himself to begin something with him in fear of being forced to abandon it.

 

He takes another sip of his drink, and says to Aomine instead: “Nothing, I suppose. I am happy with my position at work.”

 

Behind the counter, the tired bartender with the lopsided bowtie begins to mix another drink.

 

+

 

It begins snowing in the second week of the month. Midorima wakes up staring at the ceiling in an empty, chilly apartment when his alarm goes off at exactly 7 am. He gets up, pushing the warm blankets off his tall frame and shivers at the loss of heat. He fumbles for his glasses, wanders into the bathroom and brushes his teeth, shaves off his stubble, and combs his hair. He calls his mother as he makes breakfast and talks to her about the weather, his job, his younger sister, and other whimsical things. He eats in the living room by himself while the news reporter gives him the day’s news before switching channels to Oha Asa’s. He listens to the daily horoscope update while he washes the dishes. He dresses himself in his suit, packs his things into his briefcase, double checks his phone for messages, and puts on his coat, scarf and gloves before exiting his home.

 

He takes the train with the morning rush. He buys a copy of the morning paper from the silent man and the cat-faced man behind the convenience stand at the edge of the street. He walks into the café in the lobby of his building and greets Izuki, who has the morning shift. Midorima takes chai tea at the beginning of the day. He pays for his drink, tips again, and rides the elevator up the stairs. The minute he walks into the office, a tearful Kise ambushes him.

 

“Midorimacchi!” the blond wails, clutching at his arm. “You’ve got to help me!”

 

“No,” Midorima says reflexively. “I’ll not get caught up in whatever mess you landed yourself into this time.”

 

“You’re so mean!” Kise wails as the two of them does some strange vertical tango between the narrow lanes of the cubicles, around the break room and into Midorima’s office. Midorima scowls. Kise may be whiny and amazingly unproductive at times, but he is also extremely persuasive and sneaky. If Midorima doesn’t stay on his guard he’ll be roped into yet another insane plan before he knows it.

 

“Don’t you have a lot of work to do?” he asks scathingly as he hangs up his coat. “I can name four different things that should have been due last week but still hasn’t been submitted to the best of my knowledge.”

 

“Ah, yes, but you know, something came up, ne?” Kise says apologetically, not looking apologetic at all. “So I was thinking, we should have an office party.”

 

Midorima stares at him. “Why.”

 

“Don’t you know? It’ll be Akashicchi’s birthday soon!” Kise cries, waving his arms frantically. “We’ve got to celebrate!”

 

“That is an awful idea,” Midorima deadpans. “Are you not aware of how acutely sensitive Akashi is of his age? That, and how he hasn’t grown an inch for the past several years? You’re digging your own grave, Kise.”

 

Kise, the fearless idiot, just grins and ploughs his way forth with his flawed reasoning. “Aw, Midorimacchi, don’t be such a killjoy! Even if Akashicchi doesn’t want to celebrate his birthday we’ll just turn it into a Christmas party then!”

 

“I’ll pass,” Midorima says bluntly. “Get out of my office and finish your work.”

 

Kise pouts. “Fine, I’ll ask Momoicchi to help me out then. Don’t get jealous when we don’t add Red Bean Soup to the menu!”

 

“As if,” he scoffs as the blond skipped out of his office. Kise may be blessed with everlasting energy, but not everybody in the department is, Midorima least of all. Some days, he’s almost too tired to pull himself out of bed, but the consequences that follows laziness is more then enough incentive to go to work.

 

The computer finally finishes loading. Outside, the snow blows haphazardly across the city, blanketing everything in a calm, almost mournful white.

 

+

 

He runs into the dark-haired man at the end of the day again. Without realizing it, an impossibly heavy weight seems to be lifted off Midorima’s shoulder, and his stomach flutters a little when the man smiles at him. He’s wearing a heavier coat today, probably to battle the chill of winter, and has ordered Peppermint Mocha with white chocolate sprinkles from Kuroko. Midorima accepts his cup of tea, drops his change into the tip bowl, and walks out with the dark-haired man.

 

They walk past the shops.

 

They wait at the intersection, and bump shoulders again.

 

They descend into the subway and end up on other sides of the platform.

 

Midorima glances behind him again as the train pulls up.

 

The dark-haired man is already boarding his train, slowly becoming nothing more than a blur of colour among the other weary passengers waiting to head home at the end of the day.

 

Midorima looks down at his watch.

 

Seventeen minutes.

 

+

 

“Okay,” Kise says brightly as he barges into Midorima’s office again a week later. “We’ve got it.”

 

“If it’s not the proposal that should have been due three days ago then don’t bother telling me what this is,” the green-haired man says threateningly as he types away on his computer. The holiday season is drawing to a close, and this is usually the time when people are most reluctant to work. With the promise of Christmas, vacations and family time just a hair’s breadth away, nobody is focused, Kise least of all.

 

“We cordially invite you to the Winter Wonderland Celebration, on December 19th, at _Le Salle d’honneur_ at 6 pm!”

 

Midorima’s eye twitches behind his glasses. “Where did you find the money to rent a banquet hall?”

 

Kise winks. “Don’t worry, I know a couple of cute girls from Accounting who were more than happy to help me organize the expenses.”

 

“Kise,” Midorima growls.

 

“But it didn’t come without a price! To liven up the atmosphere, because god knows what party poopers like you get up to when being forced to socialize, the girls made me promise it’ll be a date-welcome event!”

 

His heart jumps in his throat. “A what?”

 

“A date-welcome event,” Kise repeats. “Like, you know, you’ve gotta bring a date with you to the party.”

 

“That is— I— no way will—” Midorima stammers helplessly. Kise gives him a funny look.

 

“Eh, are you okay, Midorimacchi? Ah, don’t worry about the whole date thing! There are plenty of girls at the office who’d love to go with you! You really are quite handsome you know, especially when you take off your glasses!”

 

“No,” Midorima says in a strangled voice. Kise winks at him again.

 

“Aw, don’t be shy, Midorimacchi! Here’s your invitation, there’s two tickets inside of the envelope, and make sure you wear something nice the day of, okay! Gotta get back to work now, bye!”

 

“Kise!” Midorima shouts, but the blond has already dashed out of the room, distributing invitations out like some kind of sparkly festive fairy. Groaning to himself and hoping that Akashi would coincidentally drop by their department and do his rounds today, Midorima picks up the envelope and peeks inside. There’s a sickeningly fancy invitation with a ludicrously curvy font announcing the venue, time and dress code, and then there’s two champagne-coloured tickets with the same extravagant writing on the surface. His fingers trace over the second ticket, and then he shoves them into his briefcase, blushing.

 

When he walks into the café at the end of the day, slightly late because a meeting with Sales had escalated to a shouting match in Meeting Room B and Akashi’s scissors had made an appearance again, the dark-haired man has already ordered his Eggnog Latte with a white chocolate stir stick. He smiles at Midorima as per usual, except this time Midorima can feel the invitation Kise gave him burning in the briefcase pressed against his thigh. He swallows tightly, words hovering on the tip of his tongue, but his brain screams at him, asking him _just what do you think you’re about to do?_

 

“Midorima-san?”

 

Kuroko is standing at the counter, tea in hand, and the dark-haired man is looking at him curiously. Midorima realizes he’s staring.

 

“E-excuse me,” he mumbles, stepping up to the counter to pay for his drink. Tip in the jar, out the door.

 

Shops.

 

Intersection.

 

Stairs, and the train.

 

Midorima looks behind him.

 

Silver eyes meet his, ten feet across the platform, and Midorima’s insides have melted. He stumbles a little as he backs into the carriage, unwilling to break eye contact with those magnificent silver irises until the door closes, and the train is taking them in different directions again.

 

Seventeen minutes.

 

+

 

“I’m sick of work,” Aomine complains into his tumbler of rum. His tie is undone, his bag is sagging by the bottom of his barstool, and his purple shirt is undone at the collar. Midorima realizes that he doesn’t know about Aomine’s job other than his company is a sister branch of Teiko. He wonders if that makes him a bad friend.

 

“Nobody ever appreciates what I do. Hell, nobody ever cares what my department does, for that matter. Those slimy greaseballs at the top of the food chain gets it all. I work nine hours a day, suck up to their shitty egos, and then do what? What do I even do? Why am I even doing this? God, I’m tired of everything.”

 

The sake is hot tonight. The bar is warm. His insides are still cold.

 

“My parents are still in Korea for the holidays. I’ll probably be stuck trying to catch up on all my projects. God, if I call them my mother will just bug me about why I’m not married yet, blah blah blah, and then ask me why I’m not promoted, blah blah blah, and—”

 

“Aomine,” Midorima interrupts suddenly, feeling the sake settling uncomfortably in his stomach. His veins feel like icy rivers. “Are we friends?”

 

“Huh?” Aomine squints at him. “Sure. Whatever. We’ve got this drinking thing going on, haven’t we?”

 

“Then can you go with me to Teiko’s Christmas party on the 19th?” Midorima asks, trying to focus on one of the two Aomines that swim in his vision. “My coworker won’t leave me alone until I bring somebody with me. It’s free. There’s food. And wine. Just show up with me.”

 

Aomine stares at him for a moment, and then he shrugs, tipping the last of his rum back. “Sure. Free food, right? Might as well do something interesting for the holidays.”

 

Midorima breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he mumbles, but Aomine probably doesn’t hear him as the blue-haired man calls for another drink. He feels something like disappointment in the pits of his gut, and then he feels stupid for feeling disappointed, because he’s the one who asked Aomine to accompany him, right?

 

He thinks of the dark-haired man, and his silver eyes.

 

The pianist performing on the dimly lit stage turns the page of his songbook, and begins another song.

 

+

 

The banquet hall is magnificently styled and the twinkling lights looks preposterously out of place on the horribly snowy evening. Aomine had caused a massive fuss earlier in the evening when he found out he had to wear a tuxedo, but was eventually convinced to borrow on of Midorima’s older suits. The two of them took a taxi that smelled of old spirits and sour tobacco with a gruff cabbie that cussed and swerved in and out of traffic.

 

Kise and the ladies from Accounting had truly gone all out this year, and Midorima could almost feel Akashi’s impending wrath at them for pulling something like this. But his red-haired boss would never cause a scene in front of a crowd— he might actually even enjoy the party— but come the next available workday and he’d be chewing Midorima and Kise out for sure.

 

“You fancy-ass bastards,” Aomine grumbles as an usher takes their coats and a waiter offers them tall glasses of wine.

 

“I didn’t condone this,” Midorima retorts as he takes a long gulp. “My coworker just seems to really like to plan parties instead of doing his work.”

 

“Is that so,” Aomine snickers, and they enter the ballroom.

 

The ladies are dressed beautifully in silks and draped with shawls; the men are rather stiff and formal in their penguin suits. Small appetizers are making their way around the room, and Aomine makes it his personal mission to sample every possible snack from every single tray. A string quartet is playing in the background, some Chopin piece that Midorima vaguely remembers from his childhood days of playing in his school’s orchestra. The hall seems to stretch on and on, with a multitude of tables covered in lilac-coloured tablecloths and flowery signs numbering each one.

 

“Why don’t they make the appetizers any bigger?” Aomine complains as he follows Midorima around, munching on some Spanish snack that Midorima doesn’t recognize.

 

“They’re not actual courses, you idiot.”

 

“Well, I’m hungry already. You promised me food.”

 

“Haven’t you ever been to a business function? All this meet-and-greet is strictly for show. Dinner will be served later.”

 

“Peh,” Aomine grumbles, and then accosts another waiter carrying a tray of French cheese.

 

About half an hour later, one of the Marketing associates climbs onto the stage and prompts everybody to their seat with a chirpy voice. Aomine makes an off-handed remark about her not having enough breasts, and Midorima kicks him from under the table. Then, an out-of-breath Kise promptly crashes into Midorima’s table just as he sits down. It’s empty save for himself and Aomine. He knows that Akashi and Kise is supposed to be sitting with them as well, senior partners and all, but Akashi has not yet arrived and Kise is supposedly one of the hosts for the evening.

 

“Midorimacchi!” Kise wails as he slumps over Midorima’s chair. The blond still managed to look superb in a vaguely burgundy tuxedo and a bright yellow bowtie. “It’s almost time! Aren’t you doing to give me any words of support?”

 

“Go die,” Midorima snaps, and Kise practically howls.

 

“Ne, so mean, Midorimacchi! I can’t believe you’d do this to me at this hour— Akashicchi is almost here! I’m so nervous! Do you think he’ll like the surprise? Well, it won’t really be a surprise once he sees the building, but that’s beside the point. Any…ways…”

 

Kise trails off, and Midorima looks up, but the blond isn’t looking at him. Rather, his gaze is transfixed on Aomine, who’s seated on Midorima’s right and is looking at Kise like the man is an angel from the high heavens.

 

“Um, hi,” Kise stammers, and Aomine doesn’t respond. Not verbally, at least; Midorima is horrified to realize that his friend is currently showing a lot of interest in the nether regions, and in a borrowed suit, no less!

 

“I’m Kise Ryouta,” Kise says quickly, recovering from his bout of starstruckness, and holds out a hand for Aomine to shake. Aomine takes it almost hesitantly.

 

“Aomine Daiki. Midorima couldn’t find a proper date so I came with him after hearing there would be free food.”

 

“Well that’s— that’s great! It’s very nice to meet you!” Kise enthuses. “Silly me, I couldn’t find a date either, so I brought my older sister! She used to work for Teiko as well. She actually introduced me to this job!”

 

“Kise, you’re rambling,” Midorima interrupts. “Also, shouldn’t you be preparing for Akashi?”

 

“What? Oh! Oh yeah! Oh man, I’d better get on it. I’ll be back later!” Kise laughs, and then he’s gone, his hand slipping through Aomine’s as he hurries to the door. Aomine watches him go, with an expression similar to one who had been clubbed over the head. Midorima kicks him in the shin again.

 

“Ow! What was that for?!”

 

“You are getting aroused in _my suit_ ,” Midorima hisses furiously. Aomine blinks, looks down, and then snorts.

 

“Oh, yeah. Man, you didn’t tell me your coworker was this hot!”

 

“Kise is not hot. He’s a man child who never hands in his projects on time,” Midorima says in annoyance. He’s already getting a headache.

 

“Nonsense,” Aomine murmurs, watching Kise run across the room. “God damn, that’s a _really_ nice ass.”

 

“Stop it!” Midorima hisses, but before Aomine could reply, Kise leaps onto the stage, looking both ridiculous and graceful, and picks up the microphone.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our beloved boss, Akashi Sejirou!”

 

Applause smatters across the banquet hall as Akashi glides in, dressed to the nines and practically emitting elegance and power. Midorima recognizes Furihata Kouki, Akashi’s husband, trembling nervously at Akashi’s side as the red-haired man leads the two of them up to the stage. Poor man.

 

“Thank you, Ryouta,” Akashi says as he takes the microphone from Kise. “My, my, this is a surprise.”

 

Midorima drifts as Akashi makes his speech, Kise makes one of his own, and Aomine stares at the blond with unashamed want. Dinner comes and goes, Midorima makes small talk, greets Kise’s sister and tries to calm a terrified Furihata. When the splendid red velvet birthday cake is brought out, Midorima is relieved to see that Kise had taken his advice and wisely avoided the topic of Akashi’s age. A single candle burns strongly at the top of the cake and after a song is sung, Akashi blows out the candle and presses a kiss to Furihata’s mouth, which the shy man gently returns as the hall erupts in applause again. Something similar to longing twists in Midorima’s stomach, and he looks away as he thinks of someone he could have been with here tonight instead.

 

He lasts about two hours into the rest of the evening before sitting alone at the dinner table becomes unbearable. He’s turned down several dance requests, finished his wine, and had barely managed to catch Aomine as the man was sneaking out of the back with a extremely handsy Kise.

 

“You are dry cleaning this tux for me,” Midorima hisses, and Aomine makes a face at him.

 

“I will, I will!” he hollers, and Kise waves giddily at Midorima.

 

“Good night, Midorimacchi!”

 

“I’m not covering for you if your sister asks where you’ve gone!” Midorima shouts back in retaliation, but that threat holds little ground as he spotted her dancing with Nijimura earlier on. He retrieves his coat, bids several of his coworkers goodnight, and slips away into the snow storm. The taxi he takes this time smells less of tobacco but more of overheated plastic, and the roads conditions are so awful that he ends up getting off at the block where his office is located. The wind is merciless as Midorima drags his way through a foot of snow, ruining his shoes and drenching his pants. It is an awful night— Oha Asa had predicted that Cancers would rank last today.

 

He passes by the barbershop, where the glasses-wearing barber and his brown-haired wife are sweeping up, the closed bookstore, and the empty restaurant, but the candy shop still open despite the hour. Midorima stops and stares at the bright purple and yellow neon sign flickering over the doorway, proclaiming _Mukkun and Muro-chin’s Candy Emporium_ in cheerful, bubbly letters. Years of walking down the same sidewalk everyday, and Midorima had been so distracted by the dark-haired man’s presence that he didn’t even notice the shop’s name.

 

He opens the door and walks inside.

 

It’s warm, and smells overwhelmingly of sweets. Dozens of clear plastic bins are lined up in neat rows, each crammed to the top with candies, snacks and bonbons of different sorts. The towering shelves on the wall holds jars of rainbow-coloured hard candies and the counter top is lined with lollipops, suckers, chocolate sticks and candy apples. Midorima can almost feel a cavity coming along.

 

“Muu, good evening.”

 

A shadow falls over him, and Midorima shrieks, jumping a foot into the air when he realizes that somebody is standing behind him. A giant of a man with tied-back purple hair stares down at him, his expression curious. He wears a colourful apron that Midorima can only assume is the uniform for the staff.

 

“Did I scare you?”

 

“Damn straight you did!” Midorima retorts, clutching at his chest. How _did_ a man of that size manage to sneak up on him?

 

“You were lost on thought, nuu,” the man says, and Midorima twitches. He’s got a slow and almost childish way of speaking.

 

“I’m not lost in anything,” Midorima says defiantly. The man doesn’t look convinced.

 

“Yes, you are. You have a look on your face. I know those kind of looks.”

 

“I haven’t got any look on my face!”

 

“It’s a look of lost love,” the man sighs, and sticks his hands into the pockets of his apron.

 

“I’m not in love with anybody,” Midorima replies crossly.

 

“Nonsense,” the man says. “Muro-chin says that everybody’s in love. He might be a romantic though…”

 

Midorima’s eyebrow twitches. “It’s late,” he says, slowly edging towards the door. “I won’t keep you from closing. Please excuse me.”

 

“Wait,” the man says, and rummages in his pockets before holding something out to Midorima.

 

“What’s that?” the green-haired man asks, staring.

 

“For you, muu,” the shopkeeper answers, as though it is the most obvious thing in the world. “You shouldn’t be sad to be in love.”

 

“I’m not in love!”

 

“Muro-chin says that it’s my job to heal broken hearts with something sweet. I get little chocolates for school girls after break-ups, lollipops for crying children, and gourmet sweets for husbands trying to make it up to their wives.”

 

“My heart is not broken!” Midorima cries, throwing his hands up in exasperation. The man does not look deterred. They stand at stalemate, Midorima fuming and the other with his hand still extended. Eventually, Midorima crumbles a little and accepts whatever the shopkeeper wanted to give him with a sigh. “Thank you, I suppose.”

 

“Nn,” the man says, and wanders slowly towards the back of the store. “Have a good night.”

 

Midorima shakes his head, and exits the store.

 

His heart is not broken. Why should it be? That man was strange and odd and Midorima is almost glad he never bothered to go into the store before.

 

He walks down the stairs to the subway and thanks the lucky stars that he hasn’t missed the last train yet. His feet are freezing, his cheeks are numb, and his hair is dusted with wet snow. He walks to the edge of the platform and this time, there is nobody but him waiting for the train. Midorima shivers before uncurling his stiff hand, reluctantly curious to see what the shopkeeper had given him.

 

It was a piece of white chocolate, wrapped up in crinkly cellphone with a tiny red bow.

 

Midorima stares.

 

The train arrives, breezing by, and when he boards it he realizes he’s not going home. Home is not an empty apartment, held together by nothing other than the daily routine he follows robotically. Home is not waking up each morning with a weight on his chest, staring up at the ceiling as he wills his limbs to move. Home is not where he longs to hold somebody by his side, to wish for anything other than loneliness. He is riding the train home in a ruined tuxedo, his stomach in knots; glasses sliding down his nose and his heart aching painfully.

 

He cups his hands around the chocolate, and the tears begin to run down his face.

 

+

 

Christmas comes and goes. Aomine rings him up and delivers his suit back, dry cleaned, as promised. Kise seems positively elated to date again, and Midorima would have regretted bringing Aomine to the party if it hadn’t meant that Kise finally found somebody who could handle all of his excessive energy.

 

Akashi sends him some documents to go over and a customary holiday greeting. Midorima returns it, reads the files, spares some time to go over rough drafts of upcoming projects and telephones his family for Christmas. They seem well, and his sister is happy at her new high school. He talks with her for a little bit, because even though there is a significant age difference between them her calmness always manages to put his worries at ease.

 

He works. He cleans. He greets his neighbours, watches the snow fall, and wallows in misery on his couch. Some days it’s tough, and sometimes he finds the strength to pull himself out of bed. He wobbles between the two states, and wonders when he became so weary and tired.

 

+

 

The bright, early January morning after the seasonal break has Midorima waking up late, rushing through his morning routine so quickly that he almost misses Oha Asa. Fortunately, he finds the time for it as he rushes around his apartment with his tie half-done and mismatched socks on both feet.

 

“Good morning, listeners! We’re looking at a fresh start for a brand new year! Today, Scorpios are ranked first! Something you’ve been dreaming for will be achieved today! Your lucky item is a pair of glasses! How intelligent! And next, in second place, we have Cancers!”

 

Midorima perks up as hurries into his office to finish packing his briefcase— maybe today would be an okay one.

 

“Cancers, things have been tough for you lately, but don’t be afraid to take a chance and turn your life around! Your lucky item today is chocolate! How sweet!”

 

He pauses, fingers lingering over the last of his papers. Sitting there, by a picture frame, is that block of chocolate he’d gotten from the candy shop before Christmas. It’s still crisply wrapped in the plastic, waiting innocently for somebody to pick it up. After a moment’s debate, Midorima slips it into the front of his briefcase as well, and hurries to work.

 

Izuki hands over his morning cup of chai. Midorima takes it, like he always does, but for a moment it suddenly feels as though the world has come to a standstill.

 

He goes through his life like this, every day, distanced and unapproachable. He is a reserved person, yes, but it has gotten to the point where he’s so far away from those around him that _he’s_ the one who’s isolating himself.

 

Midorima is tired of this.

 

He wants to _change_ things.

 

He inhales, and looks up at the barista.

 

“Good morning.”

 

Izuki startles, clearly not expecting Midorima to initiate a conversation. “G-good morning.”

 

Midorima gives a slight bow. “Thank you for the tea,” he says as he pays, tips and hurries across the lobby to the elevator, leaving Izuki to gape faintly at the green-haired man’s retreating back.

 

“Midorimacchi!” Kise sobs the minute Midorima strolls through the office. “Okay, Midorimacchi, don’t beat me up just yet, but one of the interns filed Group C’s documents in the wrong folder and now I can’t find them! I have a meeting in half an hour and I’ve got nothing to present!”

 

Midorima pinches his eyebrows as the two of them squeeze through the doorway at once. Dealing with interns is always one of the tougher parts of the job. Setting his tea down, he powered up his computer and leveled Kise with a look.

 

“Alright. Give me a minute for this to boot up and we’ll go through the archives together.”

 

“E-eh?” Kise says, eyes widening comically as his jaw drops. Midorima raises an eyebrow.

 

“What are you waiting for? Get your laptop! You need something to work on, don’t you?”

 

“R-right!” Kise cries, giving a silly little salute before dashing off to find to his office. Midorima shakes his head a little. Kise may be airheaded, but this issue wasn’t his fault. Either way, Midorima has to admit, there hadn’t been an explosion after he deviated from his schedule, and nor has the world fallen off its axis. In fact, he is already feeing much better than he did before Christmas.

 

“I’m back!” Kise shouts, barging in with his laptop. “Man, thank you so much for your help, Midorimacchi, I don’t know what I’ll do without you!”

 

“You will be fine,” Midorima huffs, logging on. “You managed to organize an entire surprise party for Akashi Seijuro, the man who sees, hears, and knows all. God knows how you managed that feat.”

 

“Oh, yeah, that took a lot of work, and a lot of help on Furihata’s part,” Kise chuckles. “But oh man, I haven’t even thanked you for introducing me to Aominiecchi! He’s so amazing, and he’s so funny, and he’s _such_ an animal in bed—”

 

“Too much information!” Midorima hollers, face burning as he chucks the stapler at the blond’s direction. Kise ducks as the office utensil whizzes over his head.

 

“Wahh, Midorimacchi! So mean!”

 

“Do your work!”

 

“Midorimacchi! Are you embarrassed?! Your blushing face is really cute!”

 

“Focus, Kise!”

 

+

 

When evening finally came around, Midorima packs up his work. He takes the lift downstairs and walks into the café. Kuroko is fixing up the dark-haired man’s drink and Kagami is wiping down tables in the corner of the room. Midorima watches the man pull several bills out of his wallet, smile at Kuroko, and then turn around with his cup of mint hot chocolate and marshmallows. Midorima blinks.

 

The dark-haired man gives him his usual smile— a lift of the corner of his lips, a moment of lingering by the doorway while Midorima picks up his drink.

 

Except, today is going to be different. Midorima is not going to be passive and let opportunities slip through. It’s been years of walking side by side with this man every day, he realizes, and I’m completely in love with him.

 

Midorima steps up.

 

“Good afternoon,” he addresses the dark-haired man. The shorter of the two looks up, almost surprised. Kuroko props his chin up on his hand and watches with interest as Kagami squeezes behind the counter as well.

 

“Good afternoon,” the dark-haired man returns, smiling a bit wider now. His voice is kind. “Nice day today.”

 

“Yes,” Midorima nods, pushing his glasses up his nose. “The sun was lovely this morning.”

 

The man laughs. “Thank goodness it wasn’t as cold as it was earlier in December. I’m horrible with winter weather, actually. I always need a hot drink to warm me back up.”

 

“I notice you don’t have chocolate in your drink this time,” Midorima says, tilting his head. The man grins, a mischievous glitter in his eyes.

 

“Oh, so you know how I take my drinks?”

 

“I see you every day,” Midorima replies, unflinchingly. “I have taken notice. Please do not think badly of me.”

 

“Of course not,” the man laughs. “I’m just surprised. You always seem so busy, so lost in your own thoughts; I didn’t think you’d notice. Kuroko said they’re out of chocolate today, so I ended up with marshmallows instead.”

 

“I’ve got a chocolate on me,” Midorima says suddenly, and opened his briefcase. “I, um, visited the candy shop at the end of the block some time ago, though I’m not that fond of sweets. It was complimentary.”

 

He held out the block of white chocolate, neatly wrapped with its little bow, and the man takes it, surprised.

 

“Wow, thanks. What a coincidence, eh?”

 

“Ah, yes…” Midorima muses as he walks up to the counter. Kuroko hands over his black tea, he pays, tips, and offers a quiet “Have a good evening,” to the pair behind the counter.

 

“You too, Midorima-san,” Kuroko says, smiling, and Midorima exits the café with the other man.

 

“Midorima, right?” he asks as they make their way down the sidewalk. The dark-haired man shuffles his drink onto one hand while he extends the other. “Takao Kazunari. It’s nice to officially meet you.”

 

“Midorima Shintaro,” Midorima replies. “It is indeed. May I ask though, out of curiosity, what your horoscope is?”

 

“Eh? I’m a Scorpio,” Takao grins, and Midorima’s heart does a flip. “What’s yours?”

 

“I am a Cancer.”

 

“Ah, summer birthday then,” Takao laughs, and Midorima decides that he likes the sound very much. “I’m born in the winter, but like I said, I really do dislike this weather.”

 

“Maybe we should get out of it then,” Midorima suggests, only lightly, but Takao gives him a sidelong glance with those silvery eyes, and he finds his steps faltering. Takao pauses as well, and their eyes never leave one another’s, as though held in place by some invisible attachment. People walk around them as the stand on the sidewalk, simply looking at one another.

 

“I always wondered,” Takao finally says, his voice soft. “Why is it that we walk the same way for years, yet never spoke to each other?”

 

“I don’t know,” Midorima answers quietly. “But I did realize that I was not happy with the way my life was before… and I wish to turn it around. Drastically.”

 

Takao’s smile widens even more. “Another coincidence. I am a man of drastic actions myself.”

 

He’s flirting back with me, Midorima realizes. This day is veering completely off course from his plain, unflappable routine.

 

He likes it.

 

“Are you free tonight?” Midorima asks, his voice steady. Whether or not this works, he will not regret it. “Would you like to join me for dinner?”

 

Takao ducks his head, and his cheeks are red. He fidgets with the cup in his hand, and his eyes are warm as he looks up at Midorima again.

 

“Of course. I’d love to have dinner with you.”

 

He does not only spend seventeen minutes with Takao tonight this time. He doesn’t mind at all.

 

+

 

Midorima is not sure when things fell into place, but when he leaves work in the evenings Takao is waiting for him at one of the tables in the café downstairs, an interesting new drink next to Midorima’s daily tea. They sit and talk about their day, order some croissants or biscuits, and then bid Kuroko and Kagami good night as they exit the building. Some nights when neither of them feels like cooking, they eat at the Italian restaurant on the street, and some days when Takao is craving a sweet they explore the candy emporium again, where the giant man and the other handsome shopkeeper with a beauty mark are hard at work.

 

Their trains still head in different directions, but some nights Takao boards Midorima’s train, and some nights Midorima follows Takao on his. The carriages are still full of tired men, weary women and exhausted teenagers, but even though Midorima can feel the heaviness in the air Takao seems to lighten it with his smiles and mischievous antics. They go back and forth, immersing themselves into each other’s space, until Midorima walks up behind Takao one night and winds his arms around the shorter man’s waist, asking if he wanted to move in and live together.

 

And now, when he wakes up in the mornings, Midorima does not face the ceiling because he is curled around Takao’s sleeping figure. Takao’s bedhead is often atrocious, but his limbs are undisturbed and his body is warm, and sometimes Midorima cannot help but melt back into their embrace. He is not tired. He is not unhappy.

 

Takao likes to kiss Midorima while he cooks, while he watches the daily horoscope, when he works on another budget plan and at any time in between. He pushes Midorima to try something new at the café, to try watching a new movie, to try taking a day off work for no reason and to simply lie in bed all day, doing nothing but relax. Their winter melts away into spring, spring gives way to the heat of summer, and the cycle repeats, and repeats, until several years pass and it is autumn again, when the leaves are falling, the weather is cool but not cold, and Kuroko adds pumpkin spice latte to his menu and Akashi invites Midorima and Kise and their ‘plus ones’ to his home for their annual casual dinner.

 

They do not spend seventeen minutes together anymore. In fact, they spend almost every waking moment side by side, occupied with each other and only each other. Midorima is in love with Takao, and Takao him.

 

“Shin-chan!” Takao calls from the doorway, jolting Midorima out of his thoughts as he stares down at the object on his desk. “Shin-chan, time for dinner, ne?”

 

“Ah. I’ll be out in a moment, Takao.”

 

“Good,” Takao grins, giving a delightful twirl in the ridiculous _Kiss the chef_ apron Kise had brought as a gag gift for the two of them.  “Hurry up though, I don’t want the red bean soup to get cold!”

 

“Right, right,” Midorima murmurs, lacing his fingers under his chin as he takes a deep breath. He thinks back to the lonely winter so many years ago, and then about his life now.

 

He gets up.

 

“Shin-chan! Come and eat already!”

 

“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” Midorima calls back.

 

He picks up the ring box, hides it behind his back, and walks out of his office.

 

It was time for another beginning.

 

+

 

_End_

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out much longer than I expected it to be. It’s kind of floaty, kinda full of internal monologue and a bit on the loose-end side, I think. If you stuck with it to the end then I salute you! ヽ(*・ω・)ﾉ 
> 
> I just liked the idea of somebody living a life they didn’t like, and deciding one day, that they would improve their daily routine just by doing the little things. And it’s those little things that make each new day better than the one before. I don’t know. I wish I could do that with my life. Maybe I will. Either way, Midorima seems to have gotten it together with Takao :’)
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read!


End file.
